


Starting Somewhere

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Season/Series 04, Taking Care of Someone, gruff fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: John has been a huge mess since the day he came out of the womb, maybe even since the day he was put in it...
Relationships: Lionel Fusco/John Reese
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Starting Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livenudebigfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livenudebigfoot/gifts).



He may not know why he's working with _Detective Riley_ all of a sudden, but if there's one thing the whole experience has taught him, it's that Wonderboy can't take care of himself for shit. And, yeah, he kind of knew that already—you don't wake up next to a person all sweaty and naked so many times without learning a thing or two, but holy crap. There's always dark circles under John's bloodshot eyes, always too damn much coffee going in him and too little food. Always some kind of bruises hiding under his clothes, or a secret bullet wound or two. And while Lionel's pretty sure John has been a huge mess since the day he came out of the womb, maybe even since the day he was put in it, there's _huge mess_ and there's _disaster waiting to happen_.

Except he's not sure John hasn't passed the _disaster_ level and reached some level of fucked-up beyond his understanding, if he's honest with himself.

But underneath all that, there's a guy: a guy who's sat on his couch drinking soda and eating pizza while watching a few games a few times, feet propped up next to his on his rickety old coffee table, and never commented on the holes in Lionel's socks but went and replaced them with stuff way better than his feet deserve anyway. A guy who's had Lionel's dick in his mouth, who's kissed him and petted his hair and saved his fucked-up life a time or two. A guy whose knees popped pretty damn loud when he went for his third or thirtieth cup of coffee this morning, and who's getting more gray in his hair all the time.

A guy who was probably up too damn late trying to save somebody, while nobody out there's trying to take care of him. And, ah, jeez, when did he start to care that much?

 _A long time ago, you dumbass_ , his bastard of a brain tells him. It's probably right.

While they might be keeping quiet about this _thing_ they've got going on with people outside Finch's orbit, it's nothing for a cop to bring his partner lunch every now and then. Next time he hits up his favorite falafel joint, he gets a second meal for Mr. Coffee. Gotta start somewhere, right? When he plops the white styrofoam container down on John's desk, John stares at it like it might have a bomb in it—knowing John, that's probably happened before—and Lionel nudges it toward him.

John starts to reach for it—it smells like heaven; John should be ripping open the container and mauling what's inside, grizzly bear-style, like Lionel wants to—then pulls back. "What's this?"

"Food," Lionel says. "You know, that stuff you put in your mouth and chew up and swallow every now and then. Ever heard of it?"

He's half-expecting John to glower at him, to say something snarky right back. Instead, he looks up at Lionel with near-helpless confusion in his blue eyes, even as his stomach growls. "Why?" he says, like no one ever does nice things for him—or he thinks no one should.

"It's called nutrition, jackass. You don't eat, you don't get to shoot people's kneecaps 'cause you get too weak to hold up your gun. Can't live on coffee and spite, buddy." Personal experience, there. He's got it.

John continues to stare—worn out and lost, maybe even hemorrhaging somewhere, knowing him. He's such a mess it hurts, right in the chest. Lionel glances around, making sure no one's looking in their direction—they can take their shit, both the good and the bad, but John doesn't need it right now. Then he kisses the top of John's head. John sighs softly, and all the tension seems to melt out of him, making Lionel's insides go all warm and gooey. His eyes even try to do some moony, lovestruck thing, and he rolls them instead. Jesus, he wasn't supposed to go and fall in love with this asshole, and yet...

Not wanting to face that, he claps John on the shoulders and says, "Eat your damn lunch, Wonderboy, or I'll eat it for you."

John doesn't say anything for a while, not until Lionel's at his desk getting ready to dig in. Then, quietly, John says, "Thank you," his eyes all big and earnest and tragic.

If Lionel's heart could soften anymore, it'd become a useless, floppy lump in his chest. "You're welcome," he says, sincerely. "Now, eat your falafel, or I really will eat it for you."

With a hint of that obnoxious smirk Lionel hates to admit he likes, John shoots back, "I'd like to see you try."

Lionel chuckles, relieved, but keeps an eye on John, waiting for John to tuck in. He does, eating like he's gonna run out of time, and Lionel exhales. John'll be alright—for now, anyway. Later, who the fuck knows? But "for now" is better than nothing.

It has to be.


End file.
